


where the lovelight gleams

by serendipitee



Category: GOT7
Genre: Dorks in Love, M/M, Mild Language, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 08:25:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17056295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipitee/pseuds/serendipitee
Summary: This bullshittery would not stand in Thailand.





	where the lovelight gleams

**Author's Note:**

> For Shan! xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
> 
> Prompt: Cold outside but warm inside. Sigh comfy

The first snowflake of the season in Seoul floats down from the sky just to land neatly on Bambam's cheek. 

Its cold wetness startles a yelp out of him. The passerby shocked by his outburst neatly avert their eyes from him once they see his deep frown.

Winter in Thailand doesn’t have any of this nonsense. The frozen precipitation, the obscene appearance of puffer coats. The blood-curdling, face-numbing, lung-hurting, _freezing_ cold, the kind of cold that makes you feel like you’ll be cold for eternity, the kind of cold that makes anything and anyone cold only a second after being out in it. 

Bambam pouts. Hopefully that last one doesn’t include the takeout chicken he’s bringing home for dinner. 

Down the line of storefronts and sidewalk, a whip of frigid wind cracks, fluttering through long hair and past heavy tweed overcoats, making the trash can on the corner wiggle, pricking at Bambam’s cheeks. He wrinkles his nose and buries it deep in the mound of his blue cashmere scarf. Should have worn a mask. Earmuffs to guard against the tinny, canned sounds of Christmas carols pouring out of the shops he strides past would have been good too.

The trek back to his place is only a few long blocks, but the distance feels absurdly lengthened by the chill biting on his ears and sinking into the fabric of his jeans. He wants to kick himself for not thinking to dress more warmly; he had decided to ignore both the voice calling from the couch in the living room and his instinct, a vaguely annoyed Jinyoung-sounding cluck in his head. All he did was steal an oversized wool coat and scarf from the lump currently holed up warm in his apartment. Now every possible extremity is gonna be numb for an hour. How will he be able to enjoy his chicken if he can’t feel his fingers?

The heels of his boots click with faster frequency as his apartment building comes into view. So close. The wind whips again, bringing another flutter of snowflakes falling into Bambam’s path. The cold burns in his sinuses even through the cloud of his breath. He feels a whine rising up from the depths of his soul, but no one hustling and bustling past him on the sidewalk would truly appreciate it, all too wrapped up in the rush of their own lives.

His doorman sees him coming from a long way off and comes outside, giving him that same signature smirk that always reminds him of Jackson. Bambam quickens his pace to a speed walk just so the ahjussi doesn’t have to stand outside any longer. It also might have something to do with not being able to feel his toes and worrying about the chicken. He manages to flash a smile and thanks out from behind the scarf.

Warm air buffets him in the entryway, swaddling around him in the elevator up to his floor. He sniffs in disdain on the ride, mentally preparing himself to give someone an earful.

His throat is primed as soon as he gets in the door. “I need you to know you’re the worst human being on the planet,” Bambam yells from the foyer as he struggles to take off his boots and juggle bags. “The most selfish, black-hearted, terrible man alive.” He tosses his keys onto the table by the door and lets his coat slide down his shoulders into a pool on the floor. “You sacrificed my _life_ for chicken! I could have gotten frostbite out there!” He abandons said chicken on the kitchen counter as he passes by it. For right now, finding his no-good boyfriend is priority.

The lack of response to his whinging doesn’t stop it; Bambam just continues as he walks down the hall toward his living room, barking about the indecency of sending a hot-blooded sub-tropical man such as himself out into the cold. For all he knows, the dumbass may have fallen asleep — what better way is there to wake up your dumbass boyfriend than by hollering about how much of a dumbass meanie they are.

Bam’s in the middle of a ranting run-on sentence when he finally hears the music, stopping abruptly in socked feet and mid-complaint. 

It’s quiet enough to be unassuming, a lingering guitar strum and light feminine voice. _I’ll be home for Christmas,_ she says, _if only in my dreams._ It catches in his chest, twists and turns around his heart, yearning, crawls up his throat to bury a little knot there. His irritation softens, melting, dripping into a puddle when he gets to the threshold.

The lights are dimmed down to the lowest setting and it looks like Yugyeom's scrounged up every candle in his apartment to set them in clusters around the room. The gold and orange light flicks and shimmies down the walls, across the floors where his cats are all curled up together on a fleece blanket, past the record player as it spins. The warmth reflects in the big picture window on the other side of the room where Yugyeom is nestled as he watches the city below, cozy in a big red sweater.

“Bam!” His boyfriend’s cheeks are rosy and his eyes are wide and filled with wonder when he turns to him. “It’s snowing!”

The sparse flakes that Bambam had fought valiantly through are coming down in a flurry now. He wants to wrinkle his nose in the face of them, but Yugyeom’s sweetness knocks him out. His voice is quiet and worshipful, like talking too loud would disturb the soft silence of a new fallen snow. Bambam feels like the flicking white-yellow lights on the Christmas tree, heart fluttering and stuttering in the cage of his ribs.

He traipses over to his boyfriend’s seat without a word and burrows into the familiar warmth of his broad chest. Yugyeom chuckles and wraps long arms around him; he cracks open his overwhelming, overabundant tenderness and brings Bambam in from the cold, kissing the top of his head. 

He is home.


End file.
